"Mariposas?" he said, gently, questioningly, "Mariposas!"
She grew pale and frightened, she had only been playing with him.
"Let me down," she said, "I can walk now; let me down, Bob."
"But your foot?"
"Let me down."
He lowered her from his arms gently, she stood firmly upon both feet, there was no vestige of pain in the expression of her face.
"Thank you," she said, demurely, looking up at him and laughing as though something amused her. "Are you going on to the Paradise? Wait a little while; let me go alone; folks'll talk if they see us together; most outrageous ideas get into some people's heads when they've not much to think of."
She tripped away, Bob standing watching her. Almost he expected to hear a little cry of pain and to be called to her help, but seemingly the ankle was quite well.
He watched her out of sight, then his eyes wandered over his own person—his clothes seemed more earth-stained than ever; his shirt, that had been clean that morning, was splashed with liquid mud.